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| Victoria Coach Station |
A few weeks ago, I went out for a day around London, making my way from Covent Garden all the way out to Victoria Station. Why? Because a English friend of mine was to came to London for a weekend of fun (I.E. Drinking) and good times. He arrived later on in the day, so I had some time.
I first got off at Tottenham Court Road station, right by a place called Denmark Street. It's only a block wide, but packed with music stores. Some were just run of the mill music shops stocking all the average ware, others made you check twice before walking in for fear of wrecking some 4000 pound work of electric guit-art.
There was this one shop that stocked some very old, very rare, very worn instruments. I managed to find a twelve-string electric for only 350 quid. Of course, knowing I had to eat and needed a roof to sleep under, I told the man working at the register I'd be back tomorrow.
Stepping out of the shop, I noticed a wall of ads, each one searching for a bandmate. I picked up a few numbers, texted here and there and left for Covent Garden.
Of course, the area has nothing to do with the religious. Nowadays, it's filled with restaurants, bars, clubs, sex shops and homosexuals, not sure many from the church would agree with that. Moving up and down the busy, crowded streets and alleys, you can see the latest trends and fashions flowing by, as well as lots and lots of tourists.
I headed due south, out towards Victoria Coach Station, which meant walking through Chinatown and Piccadilly Circus. I was greeted by a huge gate, cooked ducks just hanging out in shop windows and the smell of grease hanging in the air; not much to see, I had moved further along.
My path brought me back towards Buckingham Palace, I walked through the park and ended up at the famous Marble Arch, the huge war memorial dedicated to the Second World War. The mood around the shrine was dour, the air hung under low lying clouds as I took it in. Solemnly walking onwards, I could only think of the many people that the site was for and the presence the event still has in the British consciousness.
On the final leg of my trip, I was surprised by a flag I didn't expect to see anywhere in London.
A "Maison du Québec" in London? Who would've guessed.
And that's the last interesting thing that happened until I got to the station. We met up and headed out. I frankly would rather not get into detail, more because I can't remember than anything.
